Mom, I asked her to marry me and she said yes.
I sat down in bed, still groggy from sleep. Three months, 90 days of dating and I was already engaged. Son, isn’t that too fast?
When you know, you know, he replied with that irritating certainty of someone who is in love. Jimena said something very beautiful yesterday, that you don’t have to wait years to be sure when two souls meet.
Two souls meet. Jimena had filled my son’s head with those cheap self-help phrases.
And when would the wedding be?
Within 4 months. Jimena doesn’t want to wait much. She says she’s already lost too much time in relationships that have failed.
Four months from the engagement to the ceremony. There was barely enough time to get to know her family well, to know who she really was, but I bit my tongue and said, “Congratulations, son. I’m happy for you.”
Two weeks later they reappeared at my house. Jimena was different, more confident, as if she now had rights she hadn’t had before. She sat on the same sofa, but this time she put her bare feet on the coffee table.
“Mother-in-law, we need to talk about the wedding,” she said, pulling her cell phone out of her bag. “I’ve already chosen the reception venue, the church, the dress—everything top-notch, obviously. After all, you only get married once, right?”
Enrique smiled uncomfortably beside him. Chime, go straight to the fuck.
She sighed dramatically. Okay, okay. Look, Mrs. Breda, we’re starting a life together, you know? And a wedding is expensive, very expensive.
She looked at me directly. So we thought that since you’re the groom’s mother, how about you help us with the expenses?
That was a petition, it was a demand disguised as informal chat.
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